


Dream Catcher

by TheLongRoadHome



Category: Dissidia: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Boys Kissing, Dreamhusbands, Fireworks, Gay Male Character, Lighthouses, Love Bites, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Misbehaving, Orphanage, Younger selves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3688227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLongRoadHome/pseuds/TheLongRoadHome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Squall always has a habit of winding up in Seifer's thoughts, but now he's in them literally, and all Seifer can do is climb a phallic structure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Catcher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZyrenSong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZyrenSong/gifts).



> Help, I think my descriptions need a little work.

He sat on the old rickety fence of the orphanage staring glumly out to sea. The day was overcast and gloomy, clouds grimacing on the horizon, and the wind picked up the darker it got, but he didn’t give a grat’s piss, nor could he bring himself to move or do anything other than stare or breathe.

“Seifer?” The small voice sounded far away and very familiar, perhaps just a voice in his head, but he still replied absentmindedly with a soft ‘mhmm’ without breaking his gaze out into the vast grey ocean.

“What’s going on?” The voice hit him like a ton of bricks, his head snapped round and there before him stood a dishevelled, frustrated looking Leonhart.

To say he was shocked would of course be an understatement. He nearly fell off the fence in surprise, quickly twisting to regain his balance.

“Fuck Leonhart! Don’t _do_ that.” Squall merely cocked his head to the side and glared at him, not wanting to dignify Seifer’s rude awakening from idle daydreams with a verbal answer.

They stared at each other, sizing the recipient up, the silence between them only cut by the ebb and flow of the sea and the occasional bird noise.

“You look like shit, princess.” Seifer growled, studying Squall’s paler complexion, thinner and bonier form and the dark circles that were lining his eyes. Squall bridled at the nickname, intensifying his glare at he blonde. He suddenly felt smaller than he had in years up against the muscular knight.

“I could say the same for you.” He shot back, making a quiet show of studying Seifer’s dishevelled hair, unkempt stubble and dirtied trenchcoat. Seifer very nearly scratched his chin self-consciously under Squall’s scrutinizing gaze, but quickly checked himself.

“Nice to see you too,” The knight muttered, sliding off the fence and leaning against it cockily. “So what the hell brings someone as important as you here? Suppose you came to give me a royal visit, eh princess?”

Squall nearly drew LionHeart then and there at the irritating nickname. “I’d _love_ to know that myself.” He ground out, ignoring Seifer’s second question entirely. “I don’t know where _here_ is.”

Seifer looked at him as if he’d walked into a Galbadian bar naked proclaiming he’d found the lost treasure of Atlantis up Zell’s arse. Squall avoided his stare, feeling a subtle tinge of embarrassment within his pool of indignation; it was typical bloody Seifer to have wrangled so much anger out the shorter man with only a few obnoxious sentences.

“You’re kidding right?” Seifer bit back the urge to laugh in his face, knowing that a fist would follow the action. “This is the most retarded vision yet.”

It was Squall’s turn to stare at him. The raised eyebrow said it all.

 

A new voice cut in. “Hey! What are you doing?!” Squall tore his eyes away from the blonde to look down the beach to where the noise was coming from. He recognised the tone clearly, and with surprise, he registered that the voice was his own. A 7-year-old Squall’s voice, before the deepening tones of puberty had hit, before SeeD had entered his life, and even before Ellone had left it. The child version of himself, with the same chocolate coloured hair in the same dishevelled style chased after a grinning child Seifer, who was towing a box through the sand with a piece of multicoloured rope tied to the handle.

Squall turned, unable to understand or look away from what was before his eyes. The little Seifer stopped towing, maybe 60 meters from where they lent on the fence. His hair looked visibly more ginger at that young age, and his grin was wide as a Cheshire cat’s. The young boy flung open the lid of the box and drew out something that looked suspiciously like a firework, and the younger Squall seemed to draw back from it slightly, as if fearing the blonde’s power now he had the object.

“Matron’s going to--”

“Kill me? Only if she can catch me!” The young Seifer cut in, heaving more rockets out the box, eventually pulling out what Squall recognised as the wooden swords they used to play with.

“What are you guys doing?!!” Squeaked a smaller version of Zell half running, half falling onto the beach.

“We’re about to shock the holy Hyne out of Matron.” Seifer smirked childishly crossing his arms and trying to make himself look bigger. “Want to join in Chicken?”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” the little Squall pouted at the older boy.

Zell made a face and then grabbed a rocket out of the box in an act of defiance. He smiled victoriously at his own bravery, then his face fell when Seifer added, “Light it,” and handed him the box of matches. Zell’s face dissolved into terror, and the little Seifer cackled.

“Chicken!”

Zell frowned, then poked open the matchbox, eyeing the little fire-sticks inside. He stuck the end of it in the ground near the box and the other discarded fireworks, and then began lighting the match. Squall seemed too busy glaring at Seifer to notice Zell’s clumsy match striking, whilst Seifer got increasingly irritated with the Blonde.

“Oh let me do it!” Seifer grabbed the firework just as Zell got the hang of matches and lit the fuse. In both their surprise they knocked the rocket, letting the explosive projectile fall limply on the ground, the fuse still hissing. Both vaguely aware of the imminent danger, they began to run from the dropped explosive, little Seifer grabbing Squall by the wrist and towing him away in panic.

Seifer turned in time to see the rocket go off, though instead of firing upwards, it shot across the sand, toward the pile of other rockets and fireworks Seifer had unpacked. The beach exploded in a cloud of smoke, bright light and ear-splitting noise, as cracker after rocket after screamer went off, firing in all different directions. The three boys dived to the sand, and even the two older counterparts ducked and covered their ears.

Even after every bang had finished, Seifer’s ears were still ringing. He watched his younger self slowly get up, staggering a bit. Little Leonhart did the same.

“We are so dead.”

The three boys all ran from the beach, Zell’s eyes filled with terror, yet Squall and Seifer looked exhilarated, Seifer eyen adding a loud ‘whoop’ as they retreaded from the scene of the crime.

The adult Seifer stood up chuckling and soon doubled over laughing again.

“That’s why Chicken-wuss is scared of fireworks!” He laughed until his sides ached. I’d almost forgotten.” He had to wipe a little tear from the corner of his eye, but was surprised to look up and see Squall suppressing a chuckle too, though mainly looking wildly surprised and confused.

“You really have no clue where we are?” Seifer grinned cockily, repressing chuckles.

Squall shook his head in wonder. “The orphanage…?”

“Seems like it.” Seifer sauntered over the sand to the desecrated box, being careful to look for any unexploded fireworks. He stooped down and picked up the swords his younger self had bought with him, and looked them over. They were easily distinguishable between Seifer’s and Squalls, squalls having a badly drawn lion on the blade, with a black handle, whilst Seifer’s had been almost totally painted an obnoxious shade of red, save for a few chips where the wood had splintered.

He tossed the less garish of the swords to Squall, who caught it with ease.

“You remember these? Like our legacy.” Seifer pointed the little wooden sword along the beach, realising as he did it how ridiculous he probably looked doing it.

“Seifer. I don’t understand.” Squall looked at the carcasses of exploded rockets and burnt sand. “Why are we here?” Seifer took a few experimental swings with his old favourite toy, grinning oddly.

“Careful princess, you’ve just broken your word count record.” Seifer twisted around to face Squall, pointing the sword at him. Then lowering it after catching sight of Squall’s confused expression. He licked his lips uncomfortably, staring at the reticent brunette.

Seifer shrugged. “I don’t know much either.” He pushed the little sword into the sand and walked toward the ocean, not wanting to look too closely at Squall. The commander stared after him.

Seifer wondered, how long had he been in time compression? Was it even time compression at all? Seifer thought about pinching himself then realised that this was too real to be a dream.

Squall was sure the Seifer before him was real; the knight tended to have a manic grin in his dreams after their torture session during the war, despite Squall knowing the blonde would never do such a thing as take pleasure in such an act, even if he was being controlled by a sorceress. He would be an idiot, he would be arrogant, but he still ran by the idea of the ancient knights code; he’d rather duke it out in battle (albeit with a small amount of cheating) than use backhanded methods of getting what he wanted.

Squall came to a sudden realisation that, despite all that they’d both been through, all the complications left behind in the dust, no one had seemed to want to talk about why, and what made the actions in the war wrong or right. Squall was the hero and Seifer was the villain. No exceptions to the story.

“How…How long have you been here?” Squall asked after Seifer’s retreating form.

“Jeez, you sure are talkative today.” Seifer threw back, not bothering to turn toward the commander.

“Hn.” Squall glared at his back, wishing the blonde wouldn’t dodge the subject but knowing he was too stubborn to do otherwise.

Well, if the knight wanted to dodge, he’d have to get better at it quickly.

Seifer knew the sound of grating metal the moment it reached his ears and rolled out the way just before LionHeart hit the sand with a soft ‘whump’. Seifer instinctively drew Hyperion from inside his trench coat falling into stance with practiced ease.

“What the fuck Leonhart?”

Squall merely fixed him with a glare and drew his gunblade up out the sand. He wasn’t in the mood for play anymore.

“I’ve got no time for this. You tell me what you know.”

Seifer whistled, pretending to be impressed with Squalls angry display. Secretly of course, he was.

“Like I said, I don’t know anything. I’ve just been sitting here all innocently and enjoying myself, then your royal iciness turns up.” Seifer huffed and dropped his guard, and Squall was nearly tempted to take advantage of.

“How long Seifer?” Squall ground out, trying to put enough venom in his voice to tranquilise a horse.

Seifer looked suddenly lost, turning slowly to stare out at the sea again. His eyes glazed over.

“I don’t know.” He looked at Hyperion and then along the beach almost longingly.

Squall sheathed Leonhart, locking his adrenaline away for a moment. “In the land of the living I sent Irvine to look for you.”

Seifer snorted. “Didn’t know I was in the doghouse. Since when did you become so caring?”

“I haven’t. I’d just prefer to avoid having to clean up the mess after they find your dismembered body from the treatment your “fans” give you.” Squall was surprised the lack of reaction from Seifer. He seemed…resigned.

“Heh. Let em’ come. Throwing me to the wolves would rid both of us of our problems.” He grinned at Squall but without any real vigour behind it. “Plus I get to make a few heads roll in the process.”

If Squall had been confused before, now he was dumbfounded. Seifer had lost that edge to his sheer force of personality. He’d lost…everything. Why was he here really? He’d said it was enjoyable? He liked reminiscing? Squall didn’t figure him as the type, but it was possible. _Or_ , the situation now was a better alternative than reality. He’d said about throwing him to the wolves, which meant Seifer really didn’t want to face reality.

Seifer, whichever way Squall looked at it, was running away.

But then, wasn’t he also? Somewhere along the line he’s just got tired of fighting. Of having to deal with the politics and complications that battle bought with it. There was only one person who could give him the fight of his life without him having to worry about the paperwork afterward, and that person was before him. Yet he had lost all will to fight too

“Coward.” Squall tried his best to spit out. “Running away and won’t even give a reason why.” It seemed to hit the mark, and Seifer growled, his face becoming very feral, enhanced by his longer hair and stubble.

“Well you try dealing with _your_ fans. They’ve got one serious grudge against me lately.” Seifer ground out between gritted teeth. The world around them grew dark. “They _love_ me.” The clouds seemed to be closing in rapidly.

“I wonder why.” Squall quipped semi-sarcastically.

Seifer seemed to freeze at the comment. He couldn’t quite meet Squall’s eyes. “Because I believed that some psycho bitch masquerading as someone I trusted would make me what I always dreamed of being. And I fell hook, line and sinker for it.” Seifer met his eyes then, something akin to guilt and pride swimming in brokenly in them. “Happy now?”

Squall gulped silently and slowly shook his head.

“You here to guilt-trip me too? This fucking time compression is doing a fine job of that on it’s own without your help!” Squall raised an eyebrow genuinely caught up.

“What do you mean?” Squall shifted his leg back, not entirely sure what his reaction should be.

“Heh, it’s showing me every fucking mistake I’ve ever made! But hey! Guess it just pulled out the fucking trump card didn’t it?!” Seifer was on the verge of roaring.

“What?” Squall took another step backward, his instinct telling him how dangerous Seifer was when this angry, and how weak he was to resist any onslaughts for long.

“You! Just when I think I’ve relived my every mistake it flaunts you in front of me and says; Hey! This is the man you could have been! This is the man you could have! Had you only been a bit more…” Seifer looked Squall up and down tentatively. “…Amazing.”

Squall blinked. He wasn’t a social genius by any means, but he was pretty sure that was jealousy in Seifer’s voice. He was also pretty sure that what he’d just heard was a compliment. Seifer really must have been torn up.

Squall decided to try a different approach. “At least you went for your dream. I…never really had one.” It was the honest truth; Squall had rather envied Seifer’s headstrong ways and undying devotion to his dreams, but it all looked broken now.

“Hah. I got presented with a shadow that _looked_ like my dream and I jumped at it. I didn’t get respect. I didn’t get the title and the heroism. I didn’t even--…” Seifer looked mortified and quickly turned away from Squall, power walking whilst muttering something incoherent and stomping at the sand. The blackness covering the beach seemed to recede as the knight walked. Squall wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“What?” He said, as he came level with Seifer again. The commander was not one for words, so simply walked along patiently waiting for the knight to continue of his own volition. He could see the old lighthouse and realised that the sky was tinged with shades of dusk orange and pink.

Seifer had seen the lighthouse too, and a little light turned back on in his eyes.

“Let’s climb it.” Seifer shot him a look and grinned. “We never got to the top. I always wanted to.” Squall looked at him, then back to the tower.

And then he nodded, without knowing why.

 

 

Squall looked around the ruined interior of the lighthouse. He immediately remembered why they couldn’t get to the top, the stairs were decimated, and the only things left in their place were the holes in the walls that used to hold up the stairs and the banister, which Seifer had already used to hoist himself up onto. Squall quickly followed suit, using the holes as foot ledges and the banister to cling onto. It was far more difficult than Seifer made it look. The lighthouse wasn’t large, perhaps three stories tall, but its sheer emptiness made it look double that. Squall could barely see by the time they neared the hatch that led to the big light. Luckily the small piece of stairs that was still left standing was directly below the trapdoor, making their job easier. Seifer hauled himself up onto it and turned to look at Squall, who was using the final length of banister, and grabbed a hold of the wooden landing.

A crack and a loud snap. He felt himself falling, then something tug at his wrist making his shoulder click and a cry of sharp pain. He felt himself travelling upwards, perhaps a little too fast, as he tried to pull some of his own weight and struggle against the gravity. He collapsed onto solid ground, or at least, _something_ solid.

The both lay panting, Squall recognised the familiar drum of Seifer’s heart against his ear, speedier and stronger than before. He looked up and discovered Seifer still had his hand wrapped round his wrist and that he was laid crossways over the blonde, his head on his chest. Seifer looked up at Squall, and then let his head drop back to the wood and continued gasping for air.

“You okay?” Squall nodded and leaned over to inspect Seifer. The blonde froze and stared back. They stayed like that.

He let go of Squall’s wrist and moved his fingers to Squall’s lips. His eyes flicking from the commanders eyes to his mouth. Then like that, it was over. The knight was up and opening the hatch. Squall stared blankly.

Letting the little remaining light in, Seifer hauled himself through the door and offering a reluctant hand to the brunette below, without meeting his eyes. Squall did not take the hand, but pulled himself up and over the edge. Seifer just looked without seeing at the action. The brunette righted himself and took a sweeping look around at the view.

“It’s…” Squall searched for the right word. “Breathtaking.”

The sea was outlined in a deep purple-blue by a grey sky picked out with orange and yellow light, where it had previously been gray. The ocean was serene and there was a gentle breeze. The giant mirrored light stood regally on the top of the lighthouse reflected some of the suns’ remaining rays. The soft orange glow made Squalls’ skin seem as beautiful and smooth as it was before the stress of the war. He looked stunning, chocolate locks teasing his eyes and taking on a shine. His body radiated health once again. Truly breathtaking.

They stood there until the very last trace of orange had been removed from the sky. Seifer picked out a piece of splintered wood from the lighthouse floor and lit it with a fire spell. The giant lamp of the lighthouse glinted in the firelight. Seifer met Squall’s eyes.

“Let’s light it.” Squall whispered, looking at Seifer in the flickering light in what looked like, for Squall, subdued excitement. The lamp was an old electrical contraption with a huge generator that hadn’t been touched in years as its power source. Seifer checked the wiring around the back of the lamp that surprisingly seemed to be in working order; despite the apparent lack of attention it had received through its life. Squall looked at a way to get the generator working, whilst Seifer moved to position the lamp so the light would go out to sea, then went back to help Squall.

“Starter motor is busted.” Squall stated, his shoulders slumping a little.

“You go round the front. I’ll get it working.” Seifer grinned at the brunette, who only raised his eyebrow, but didn’t question the knight, who seemed over-confident. If the blonde thought he could get it working then he might not be the only one disappointed at the end. Squall walked up to the balustrade and looked out to sea, listening to the waves and the wind whistle past him. There was a loud curse from the other side of the circular lighthouse platform and an irritable buzz. Suddenly a loud clunk and a whirring noise, and the light erupted onto Squall’s body and the sea behind him. The light began revolving slowly and retreated to the other side of the platform. Seifer emerged grinning.

“Told ya.” Squall merely rolled his eyes as an answer and stood facing the taller man with a vaguely amused smile on his face.

“Thank you.” Squall said, staring toward the light. It was almost magical.

He looked back at Seifer. The knight’s eyes were swimming with something he couldn’t identify. He looked like the old Seifer, arrogant, proud, difficult, strong, intelligent and…simply _alive_ man Squall had always known. The light hit him, creeping across his face and getting in his eyes so he couldn’t see his former rival until he stepped close. He took the hand that was trying to cover the brunette’s eyes from the glare.

For a moment, Squall could only see Seifer the torturer staring at him, but it passed as quickly as the Balamb lion’s flinch under the knight’s touch. The light drowned everything around them. He was thankful the lamp didn’t go round very fast and that they could linger like that.

“I didn’t even get you.”

Squall blinked. “What?”

Before Squall could say another word, Seifer had pulled him gently by the wrist and closed the distance between them. His mouth hovered over their target, and finding resolve, descended onto Squall’s lightened lips.

The lion did not respond. Seifer’s heart dropped. He put his hand on Squall’s cheek, savouring one last touch before he broke away.

Squall stared up at him, wide eyed, the bright light making him look paler and ethereal, until the beam washed over him and Seifer was left standing in the glow alone.

“Shit.” The blonde stated, breathing heavily. “Shit.”

Seifer made to move but the lion’s hand shot out and stopped him. He looked confused beyond all coherent thought, and looked at the hand –his hand- that was impeding Seifer’s movement like it was alien.

He looked back up at the blonde and swallowed. His brain became detached from his actions.

“Do it again.” Squall’s mouth said before he could stop himself. He breathed heavily and his cheeks were flushed.

Seifer looked like he’d just been asked to do the sexy towel dance by Dracula. He let the meaning sink in and then laughed wildly. He stepped close to Squall and leaned in again, ghosting his lips with hot breath. The brunette shivered, and leaned up toward the source of heat, making Seifer loose control. He grabbed the commander round the waist, pulling their bodies flush together, whilst his other hand found his chin and their lips meshed.

Squall’s body went on autopilot. He found himself kissing back. He found his hands placed lightly on Seifer’s shoulders. He found his heart hammering at a million times a minute. He even moaned. Seifer nipped his bottom lip making him gasp and allowing a tongue to slip in, only making him groan more. Seifer explored the lion’s mouth, caressing his face and taking in as much of Squall as he could. The lion smelt like mint and another addictive, yet evasive smell Seifer couldn’t quite place.

The knight came up from the rich, swelling heat to breathe. They were both panting. Squall had an irresistible little blush across his face. His brain kicked back into gear. He’d just kissed Seifer, and enjoyed it, and he couldn’t bring himself to care that he’d gone back on all those years of hate and rivalry with the blonde. Or perhaps, this was simply the culmination of their rivalry. Squall had always been strangely attracted to Seifer, not in the way of a crush, but like a magnetic pull that kept them coming back for more again and again. He had never really thought too hard on it before, normally concentrating on the knight’s faults rather than the connection between them, but he saw it now, as bright as the lighthouse’s single eye that gazed out to sea. He knew more of Seifer, and Seifer knew more of him, their emotions, their habits, what made them themselves, than anyone else. No one could wrestle emotion out of Squall like Seifer, and no one could set Seifer’s blood on fire like Squall.

Truly, they were both the answer to each other’s equation. If anyone could end the boredom for Squall, it was Seifer, and if anyone could dig Seifer out of his deadlock with the rest of the world, it would be Squall. He swallowed, half not believing his own conclusions, and sure that Ultimecia was toying with him.

“Seifer.” He sighed, more longingly than he meant to. The knight’s eyes flickered like swirling liquid jade. “Come back with me.” Squall said, almost automatically, the sound rolling off his tongue.

Seifer looked astounded, but soon after the expression shifted to that of concern. “And what will happen then…?” He looked down at Hyperion, which Squall knew to be a look of worry for the possibility of being parted with his beloved gunblade on the event of him being arrested. He knew that if anyone else had asked Seifer to come back, he would have rejected them.

“I’ll do something.” He stated. “And if…we could go…run” Seifer looked at him more worriedly now.

“No.” He shook his head. “I’d rather watch you live out my dream than bring you down with me.”

Squall nearly hit him. “I will get it to work. Come back.”

“And what if it doesn’t? What’ll happen to you and me? You think this is just going to be all fine and dandy when I waltz back onstage?” Seifer snapped.

Squall growled, and answered by grabbing him and kissing him firmly on the lips, before drawing away breathlessly. “Come with me. That’s an order, Seifer Almasy.” He put on his best commander tone. Seifer tried to glare but neither of them believed it, instead his eyes seemed to be undressing Squall.

“Damn Hyne, you’re sexy when you get all bossy.” Seifer murmured after a long pause. “But how do we get out of time compression? I could already be dead.” He looked around.

Squall nearly smiled, Seifer’s admonishment meaning that he hadn’t rejected Squall’s shotgun decision.

“You’re definitely not dead, Seifer.” He said, quietly. “I don’t think you’re in time compression either.”

Seifer just stared at him, waiting.   
  
“The truth is, I think you’re dreaming.” Squall said, holding a hand up the second Seifer tired to interject, “I tracked you down. You were in a hut 20 miles from Fisherman’s Horizon, sleeping. No matter what I tried to do, I couldn’t wake you up. I couldn’t move you or take you elsewhere because there might have been some medial thing I didn’t know about, and if I moved you it was likely that you’d get taken away.”  
  
Seifer looked at him, feeling uncomfortable and twisted. The Balamb Lion looked guilty. “Squall, what the fuck did you do?”

“Nothing. I ran out of ideas.” Squall still looked guilty. “It was getting dark and you just wouldn’t wake. I-I tried everything.”

Helplessness seemed to flood between them.

“…So I just made you comfortable and I guess I fell asleep too.”

“If it’s just a dream, why can’t I wake up?” Seifer growled.   
  
“Maybe…maybe you didn’t want to.” Squall said, looking at Seifer’s hand, feeling so totally out of his depth. “You’ve fought. You were hurt when I found you. Was it…was it my **_fans_**?” He spat the word like it was poison.

Seifer went quiet. He knew Squall would take his silence for an affirmative, and Squall was right to do so; he had been avoiding the world. Why else was he in Fisherman’s Horizon? He wanted the quiet way out; a place where he could make good and remember the good old days, without the constant reminder of everything to do with the war. He didn’t much care that he’d been hurt, and he supposed he’d known deep down all along that this was a dream. He’d been searching for a reset button on his life that didn’t exist. But if there was a second chance somewhere, perhaps Squall was it. He was still alive. There was so much left that he wanted to do. Travel, do something gallant or heroic, make life mean something more than just a big mistake at the hands of a crazy sorceress.

He had pretended the fights he’d been in lately meant nothing. Eventually his denial and regret had just caught up and engulfed him. If he hadn’t been found by Squall he would have died, and if Squall hadn’t kissed him back he would have lost all hope. If that wasn’t a fucking sign that he had more life left to live, then he didn’t know what was.

It was time, time to get back up and stick his middle finger to the past.

“Squall.” Seifer said, grabbing hold of the brunette’s wrist and pulling him towards him. “I don’t know how you got in my head, but you better be there when I wake up, or better, be there and remember this.”

Squall’s face went from bewilderment to a smirk, and he kissed him, grabbing his hair with one hand and his coat with the other.   
  
“I’ll be there. If I don’t, then **_make_** me remember.”   
  
Seifer grinned fiendishly, and pulled Squall in for another kiss, his eyes sliding closed against their combined hot breath ticking his skin. He bit playfully on Squall’s lip, before kissing him languidly.

He was going to wake up. He could feel it.

Squall’s lips were upon his, tongues battling, pressed up against each other and panting like animals in heat.

When they broke for air, he opened his eyes.   
  
Squall smiled, and the lighthouse turned its eye on them, drowning them in light once more. The light blocked out Squall form his view, and something pulled at his mind.

 

 

He blinked the moment away, eyes feeling swollen as if he’d slept too long, and realised he lay on his back.

 

 

The sky outside the window was bright – the fresh glow of morning. The wooden boards he lay on dug into his back painfully, and his body felt distinctly unwashed and face unshaven. The shack was far smaller than he remembered, and his feet pressed up against the wooden boards that were coming away from the rest of the wall.

Everything felt cold and numb, and he noticed a familiar black jacket covering his chest.

Squall’s face hovered a few inches above his, upside down from his point of view, hair hanging around them like a curtain. His eyes were closed, still asleep, and lips were shivering and blue from the chill morning and sleeping without a jacket. His breath came in cold little puffs. The back of Seifer’s head rested upon Squall’s knees – a makeshift pillow – whilst Squall leant against the corner of the shed, skin covered in goose pimples, curled over him like a protective halo.

Seifer grinned and sighed. Squall was beautiful in the morning half-light. He lay, just staring up into the Lion’s face.

Seifer grabbed the jacket on his chest, not daring to move his head in case he awoke his headrest. Carefully, he hooked the jacket back over Squall’s shoulders, before ever so slowly, raising himself to meet Squall’s lips.

He didn’t care if Squall didn’t remember their joint dream.

He felt Squall’s eyes open as their lips touched, and he found he could only tug harder on the jacket and make the kiss deeper.

Squall shivered.

His hands found the back of Seifer’s head and held him there, relishing in the man’s warmth, as the sun peeked through the window at them.

 

Somehow, Seifer was sure; it was going to be okay.

 

It was going to be difficult, and a long arduous walk was between where he was now and freedom, but he knew without asking that Squall would be there every step of the way.

 

After all, that’s how it had always been.

 

 

 

 


End file.
